


bar brawl

by lovelylogans



Series: sanders sides platonic week [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fight mention, Friendship, Gen, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2020-12-17 18:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: The last thing Logan wanted to do was put something cold on his face after walking home in under-freezing temperatures. And yet, as he fumbled his grip on his key with his cold-clumsy fingers, that was what he had to do as soon as he got into the apartment.It seemed foolish, in retrospect, that Logan had thought no one would be awake.





	bar brawl

The last thing Logan wanted to do was put something cold on his face after walking home in under-freezing temperatures. And yet, as he fumbled his grip on his key with his cold-clumsy fingers, that was what he had to do as soon as he got into the apartment.

It seemed foolish, in retrospect, that Logan had thought no one would be awake.

He froze like a deer in headlights when he realized that wasn’t the case.

Roman glanced casually over at the door from the couch, and then back to the TV.

It took him a moment, but his head whipped back around again, jaw dropping as he rose to his feet. Logan’s fingers curled around the doorknob, like he could shut the door and do this over again, this time with no one in the room.

“Who do I have to kill?” Roman demanded.

Logan’s fingers tightened on the doorknob, and he shifted on his feet. Just like that, the building righteous fury on Roman’s face melted into—something else.

“Stop letting the warmth out, Baymax, it’s freezing.”

Logan could argue with that statement, but he did as Roman said anyways, stepping into the apartment and closing the door, locking it behind him.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Logan _hated_ that he flinched, shoulders jumping up, a quick intake of breath, and just as fast the hand was gone.

“Sorry,” Roman said, voice a hush, and Logan shook his head, turning back around.

“It’s—fine,” he said, and Roman frowned, before carefully reaching forwards to lay his hands on Logan’s bare forearms.

“You’re freezing,” Roman said, and just like that, Roman was wrestling his way out of his sweatshirt, holding it out to Logan. “Here, I’ve got it all warmed up for you.”

Logan sighed, and tugged it on as best he could, avoiding the blood on his face, straightening it out.

“Okay,” Roman said, “kitchen, then, you have to get something cold onto your face. And I’m making the warm beverage of your choice, it wouldn’t do if you came down with hypothermia on my watch.”

Logan tried his best not to fidget and followed after him. He’d wanted the apartment to be quiet, and the foyer and kitchen to be empty, so he could have had some space to untangle his thoughts, and not discuss it until morning. Now he might have to talk about it with Roman, when he still had an edge of adrenaline and terror in his veins that were making his hands shake, just slightly.

But Roman didn’t ask at all. He sat Logan down at the kitchen table, under firm orders to stay still, and handed him a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. Logan let out a small hiss of displeasure when the cold came into contact with his face, again.

Roman started shuffling around the kitchen. He wasn’t humming to himself, which made Logan shift with unease. Roman always hummed to himself, unless he was upset in some way, or in deep thought.

The silence between them stretched, thinning and uncomfortable. 

Roman turned to face him, holding two mugs, and Logan blurted out, “Why aren’t you asking about it?”

Something was building inside of him. An outburst had eased it, but only somewhat.

Roman shrugged, setting one of the mugs in front of Logan, one near him. “I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would,” Roman said simply, before crossing over to the sink, picking up one of their rags, and soaking it under the water, before tugging over one of the chairs so he could sit in front of Logan. 

“Can I?” He asked, holding up the rag, and Logan nodded, setting aside the peas. He ignored whatever emotions were building up, higher and higher.

Logan tensed up again when Roman inched closer, but Roman’s touch was far more gentle than Logan expected. His eyes were focused on Logan’s face, close enough to direct eye contact it made him a little nervous, even when he rationally knew that Roman was focusing on his injuries.

Roman had moved from wiping up the blood that had flown from his nose and down his chin up to the cut at his brow. It was at that point that whatever had built up inside him snapped with all the quiet ease of a twig.

“It was so _stupid_,” Logan burst out, and Roman glanced into his eyes, surprised, before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

“Logan, if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s stupid.”

Logan gritted his teeth. “Just because I am academically inclined, it doesn’t mean I can't—“

“Stop,” Roman said, firm. “Listen, buddy, I’m just not gonna hear you talk about my friend like that. I’m just not.”

Logan blinked. “But I am—“

“Not gonna hear it,” Roman continued, slightly louder. “The only person allowed to insult Logan is me, because he understands that it’s all in good fun and he knows that I have his back, at all times, always.”

Logan was shocked into smiling. Just a little.

Roman drew back and set aside the rag, pushed the mug into Logan’s hands, and collected his own, warming his hands.

“So,” he said, “if you want me to see that line of reasoning, you’re going to have to explain it to me. If you want.”

Logan took a sip of his tea—chamomile—and sighed.

“I was at the bar with a few of the other tutors, you know, from the writing center,” Logan began. “I really mostly went because they were pestering me so much about it. I figured I would just—stay for a little while, and make an excuse to leave early. But I stayed longer than expected, and people started to split up. So I went to the bar, to see if people were ordering more drinks there.”

He paused, and took another sip of his tea, to fortify himself.

“I don’t know how the fight started, actually,” Logan said, and he was relieved to hear the only difference in his voice was just him, slightly quieter. No trembling or breaking or any other such thing that would reveal how shaken he truly was. “I just heard them get louder, and I turned to see them fighting. And—it happened so fast. I know that in—chaotic situations, the stress response causes your senses to become sharper, but I didn’t—feel, that, at all. I didn’t feel like I had the energy of fight or flight, I just felt…” Logan cast about for a specific word, and made a frustrated noise when he couldn’t find one.

“It’s okay,” Roman said, hushed. “Keep going.”

Logan forced himself to take a deep, even breath, to drink a little more tea, before he continued.

“I couldn’t see the bouncer anywhere, and they were getting to the point where it was obvious they were going to harm passerby. I didn’t—I hardly even stopped to _think_—I just went between them, and—“

Logan had never been punched, not in a serious kind of way, before this evening. He hadn’t been particularly inclined towards roughhousing when he was younger, much more inclined to look down his nose at such people and turn back to the book in his lap. He had steered clear of the rare fights in high school. He had been punched jokingly in the shoulder, and he had attended a self-defense class tagging at Patton’s heels, but that had been the extent of his fighting experience.

It had been foolish to think that he could intercede between two men who had fifty pounds and six inches on him.

“That’s not foolish at all,” Roman said. Logan realized he had just said all of that aloud, and groaned, planting his elbows on his thighs and burying his face into his hands.

“Hey,” Roman said, and tugged lightly at Logan’s forearm until Logan looked at him, narrow-eyed. “It’s not foolish. It’s not _stupid._ It was _brave_, Logan.”

Logan scoffed, looking away.

“It _was_,” Roman insisted. “You saw that people could have been hurt, and you interceded! I know you’re usually about, like, logically standing to the side and analyzing a situation, but sometimes situations like that don’t take a lot of thought. And you were the only one hurt, and of course, that _sucks,_ but you were… really courageous, Logan. You’re a hero.”

Logan scoffed again, looking down into the amber liquid of their mug.

“You’re _my_ hero,” Roman declared. “And I bet the people in the bar thought so too! And—and even if they didn’t! They’re wrong! Because you were brave, and you helped de-escalate a situation, and I—I will _fight_ anyone who says anything bad about you trying to help.”

“You will not.”

“I _will,”_ Roman said. 

“Then we’ll just have to swap positions and I’ll be the one cleaning blood off your face,” Logan said.

“So be it,” Roman said, and Logan actually managed to laugh, because Roman did seriously look as if he was about to go out, stalk down the occupants of the bar, and demand to fight them over their hypothetical thoughts, and Roman smiled, sudden and huge.

“There we go, you’ve smiled,” Roman declared, before setting the bag of peas back onto Logan’s face. “Now, if I hear you talking bad about yourself again, either I’m going to have to call Patton or I’m just going to have to sit on you until you see reason.”

“I… do not see how that would make me see reason at all.”

“You’d be _annoyed_ into seeing reason.” Roman declared. “Now, c’mon, I bet you’re still jittery, so we’re going to sit down and watch the Disney movie of your choice.”

“I don’t watch Disney—“ Logan began, as Roman pulled him to his feet.

“Liar,” Roman said, tugging him towards the couch.

“I thought you said I was courageous and brave?”

“Oh, you _must_ be feeling better, if you’re up to sassing me,” Roman said, parking Logan on the couch. “Go on, pick a Disney movie. You can pick all the holes in the logic you want and I won’t complain, just this once.”

Logan paused. “Really?”

“Well, okay, maybe I’ll complain a _couple_ of times.”

Logan shrugged, and accepted the afghan Roman threw at him. “Acceptable.”

At last, Logan was beginning to feel warm.


End file.
